


Stay (Alive) For Me

by CommonSenseisPaineful



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, poor john can't make up his mind, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8558053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonSenseisPaineful/pseuds/CommonSenseisPaineful
Summary: Between duty and inclination John Laurens was torn.Both heart and sword pining for two different things- led by the same mind.Poor John.__Just a little idea from a longer thing I have.Honestly just chose it for the drawing scene





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extract from a finished fic. If anyone is interested in reading the rest of it (v. angsty) then I might add more but at the moment, ehh. I won't post it if here is no reason to.  
> All comments are happily read and adored.  
> Enjoy!

“Stay.”

The words from him rang out over and over again like a drumbeat. His fingers tapped out a tune to the heart-breaking word that replayed in his mind.

“Stay.”

That’s all he had said, after shouting himself hoarse that’s all he could say to convince him. To just stay. The man fussed over the tresses that tickled across his neck, he knew he could accept this move up North and would be in the thick of the battle- either that or face more months of a glorified secretarial position in relative safety away from the action he so longed to see. Well, he longed that and the smaller man who had begged him to just stay. The very man who worked beside him that day without so much as a glance, unwilling to try and convince him with illusory looks but rather the knowledge that he was right anyhow. Running his fingers through the tie in his hair and pulling it out, releasing the mass of curls that pulled on his scalp somewhat when tied back to tightly to hold them there for formalities sake. He was torn. With one word he was torn down the seams like parchment. Hair fell forward over his cheeks as he leant against the makeshift table in the tent, steadying himself against the cool surface. His shoulder rolled without any grimace or flashes of pain from his injury- something that had been plaguing and preventing him from returning to the fight. Yet now he almost wished it hurt more, to satisfy his soul with a permissible excuse for why he should stay.

He exhaled deeply and picked up the leather-bound book that reminded him of home. Stiff, cold and formal- yet withholding his deepest secrets. It almost tempted him to sketch, another turtle shell or the faint outlines of constellations smothered by clouds that attracted his eye when he retreated back to his tent. Yet in doing so, he knew that every line would seem disagreeable and wrong, his hand could never quite muster what he wanted to draw- not that he knew it himself. Picking up the very worn and stubby pencil, he leant a little more forward on the desk, pulling a chair out so he could draw without the resulting pain in his neck. Drumming the pencil in thought, he tried to extricate an earnest memory- his hand began working away faintly at the paper trying to build a familiar image he could not yet capture. The smooth lines gave way to a figure- slumped over a desk ungracefully and feverishly scrawling away at some letter or writing- pressing so hard it would seem he would leave marks in the desk too. The thought made him smile as he shaded the slope of lean shoulders which fused into a slight neck. Unkempt dark hair hung from where it was hastily tied back- it draped over the man’s face- concealing his expression in the shadows formed from the wax candle also lit on the desk. His smile faded a little as he brushed away the graphite dust from the sketch, as he recognised the man he had drawn. The scene was one he was often privy to- as his muse worked insufferably, even at night continuing the perpetual staining of his fingers. It seemed as much a part of that man as his freckles were to him. It would have been impossible to hide the abashed shame that crept up his collar when his glances at the concentrating man were caught and dared to be returned- a raised eyebrow and coy smile of idiosyncrasy made him sink into his chair a little more whenever they worked together. He sighed again, closing the book and retreating it back to the edge of the desk where he lingered for a little while- fingers feeling the buttery leather underneath.

This respite was interrupted quite quickly by an almost-bashful cough from behind him. Turning sharply to face the intruder- his eyes softened for just a moment as he was met with that familiar hunger-pang frame and intelligent eyes. The man stood in almost awkward silence for a moment, then stepping forward and coughing again like he was about to apologise for his reckless and crude arguments- his undignified pleading. He was stopped; however, by a hand intertwining with his ink-stained fingers and his words uttered by another’s mouth.

“I’ll stay.”


End file.
